


Try counting sheep?

by AlmostGinger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Insomnia, M/M, Supportive Stiles Stilinski, Tired Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostGinger/pseuds/AlmostGinger
Summary: Derek is having trouble sleeping. Real trouble. Stiles knows how that feels. And helps, in a very Stiles way.





	

“Dude you look like crap.” says Stiles, too surprised to be more delicate with his phrasing. Derek nods his agreement, he caught his reflection in a store window on his way over, he knows he looks like a corpse. Stiles moves from the door to let Derek in. Now Derek’s here Stiles doesn’t know why he agreed to this. Stiles was hardly a sleep expert. It was too late to back out now. Stiles decides he needs more information before he can come up with a suitable solution to Derek’s current predicament.  
“Have a seat big guy.” He gestures at the sofa and at his Dad’s armchair, wondering which one Derek will choose. It’s all part of the research project. Derek surprises him by choosing to sit on the sofa. He sits so neatly, as though he might be shooed off at any minute.  
“We don’t normally let dogs on the furniture.” says Stiles with a grin as he flops down next to the surly alpha.  
“Cute” replies Derek.  
“I am, thank you for noticing. Now, tell me, when did you last actually sleep, for like more than an hour?” Stiles does not share Derek’s respect of soft furnishings. He’s stretched out with his back propped up against the arm rest, his knees bent, his converse digging into the fabric cushioning. It’s making Derek feel uncharacteristically agitated. What if he gets mud on the sofa? Somebody needed to sort Stiles out.  
“Shoes.” says Derek with a frown.  
“Wow, ok it’s been too long, you’re starting to get aphasia.” says Stiles, suddenly jotting notes into a pad that he has produced from god-knows-where.  
“No, I mean take your shoes off, you’ll ruin the sofa.” Scowls Derek. He’s very aware he sounds like a middle-aged housewife. He blames the sleep deprivation. Stiles concedes at least and chucks the offending footwear across the floor.  
“Happy now grumpypants? Now answer my question, when did you last sleep?”  
“Thursday.”  
“Ok so that’s a full week…”  
“The 30th” finishes Derek.  
Stiles’ eyes do that cartoon ‘pop-out-his-head’ thing that normally amuses Derek, but he hasn’t the energy to even produce a half smile.  
“Derek! You haven’t slept in three weeks? You should be dead.” says Stiles, his eyebrows haven’t descended from the top of his forehead yet, the shock is too much.  
“Wolf healing keeping me alive I guess.” he says looking as miserable as he feels.  
Stiles understands, sleep was still something he was struggling with after the whole Nogitsune ordeal.  
“Ok Derek, we’re gonna try a few different things, see if we can work this out. I mean if nothing else I can talk you through all the flaws in the Spiderman movies. That usually sends Scott straight to Sleepsville.”  
“Bring it on.” says Derek with a sigh.  
“First off, look at you, have you ever really let yourself relax? Look at you, you’re sat like you’re waiting for an interview. You need to learn how to sprawl my friend.” says Stiles, tapping him on the shoulder with the end of his pen.  
“In-fact! PJs, you need to get in some nice comfy pjs, sprawl on this big old sofa and fall into the arms of Mr Sandman. Oh! I know! Stay here.” says Stiles all in one go, Derek wonders how the kid doesn’t pass out due to lack of oxygen. He watches as Stiles runs off and he can hear his erratic footsteps overhead. He also detects a sudden scent of sandalwood. Stiles reappears about fifteen minutes later, laden with the biggest, fluffiest bathrobe Derek has ever seen.  
“Bath time!” he says, looking pretty pleased with himself, he leads Derek upstairs to the bathroom, its small, but cosy, Stiles has lit several candles dotted around the room, and it looks like he poured a whole aisle of bubble bath into the tub.  
“I can leave my phone with you if you wanna play some like relaxing music while you soak?” he asks, his face the epitome of concern. Derek swats him away, “This is good.” Stiles nods and leaves Derek to get undressed and into the bath.  
He can’t believe this was Stiles epic plan. A bath. Like he hadn’t tried that himself. His cynicism depletes a little as he slips under the suds. What the hell were these bubbles made of? There must be magic involved here, the way the water held him, warmed his aching muscles, this was no ordinary bath. The gentle hint of sandalwood coming from the candles combined with the bubbles were definitely making him feel better. He tries not to think while he lays there, letting his skin prune. But thoughts come regardless. Specifically, images, images of all the people he has ever loved, dying. It started when they woke the Nematon and it has only gotten worse over the last few weeks. Every time he closes his eyes it’s another gory end for someone he cares for. So, he just stopped closing his eyes. But even an Alpha needs sleep after so long. He lies in the bathtub until the water goes cold and then he makes contact with the softest towel in the known universe. It smells good too. Stiles must have heard the water draining from the tub because there is a tentative knock at the door.  
“You decent?” he asks, Derek opens the door in response. Stiles tries not to stare at the toned stomach on display, still glistening with bathwater. He temporarily loses the power of speech and so just thrusts the pile of clothes at Derek before retreating swiftly out of the bathroom.  
Derek doesn’t think too much of it, Stiles is weird at the best of times. He changes into the provided sweatpants and hoody, it actually hangs pretty loose on him, thankfully he won’t be repeating the ‘Miguel’ incident. He heads back down stairs, Stiles is in the kitchen, crowding the kettle.  
“And now! Camomile” he says, presenting Derek with a mug. Derek takes one sniff of the warm liquid and pulls a face.  
“No, come on Derek, if you want to go sleepy bye byes you have to cooperate.” Says Stiles, his hands on his hips like a disappointed mother. Derek yields and takes the mug.  
“Come on, I’ve got the world’s most sleep-inducing movies lined up.” He leads Derek back into the lounge and settles on the sofa, tucking himself up in a fuzzy looking blanket. Derek seats himself at the edge of the sofa again, one leg neatly crossed over the other. Stiles full on tuts at him.  
“No, this will never work, Derek, lounge man, lounge! Take up as much of this sofa as you need, hell you can even put your feet up on me if you like, I do draw the line at foot rubs though.” says Stiles, waving the blanket around for good measure. Derek does as he’s told. He scoots his back against the arm of the chair and extends his legs out in front of him and across Stiles, who rather accommodatingly envelops him into the blanket.  
“Better. Right, let snooze inducer 1 commence!” says Stiles aiming the remote control at the TV.  
“Officially the dullest film I’ve ever had the misfortune to waste seven dollars at the theatre on.” he mutters, frowning at the screen as the airport arrivals terminal appears and Hugh Grant’s voiceover begins.  
“Love Actually?” asks Derek, surprised that Stiles even owns the DVD.  
“Crap, Actually. Lydia left it here. If this doesn’t send you to sleep I don’t know what will.” he replies, unconsciously giving Derek’s feet a little squeeze. Derek tries to not jump at the unexpected contact but he’s so damn tired everything is causing him to react. Either Stiles doesn’t notice or pretends not to.  
A light snoring can be heard over the sounds of the kid doing his drum solo. Stiles smiles a little, wipes a bit of drool from his jaw and continues to snore. Derek smirks to himself, and carries on watching the film, secretly enjoying every minute.  
When it ends, Derek gives Stiles a little nudge with his feet.  
“Nyahfewah. What?” Stiles’ hair is all sticking up at one end and Derek thinks he looks impossibly cute which is just another indicator of how very extreme his current exhaustion level is.  
“So, did you get any zeds?” asks Stiles hopefully.  
“Sorry to disappoint.” he replies.  
“Oh god, no, I’m sorry, you had to sit through that entire movie, I could cry for you. Do you at least feel sleepy?”  
Derek shrugs in response. He feels exhausted. He does at least feel comfortable. The blanket is cosy and Stile’s body is radiating enough heat to keep them both toasty.  
“Ok, don’t panic, let’s do some yoga, maybe bringing some zen into your life will help correct your circadian rhythm.”  
Before Derek can respond, Stiles has jumped up from the sofa and disappeared off into another room, Derek can hear him rummaging through what he assumes is the under-stairs closet. He hears him make a triumphant “aha” noise and it isn’t long before he returns with a victorious grin.  
“Voila” He says, throwing the sheet down onto the wooden floor.  
“Is that a Twister mat?” asks Derek, his sardonic brow firmly in place.  
“Twister mat, yoga mat, you say tomato I say feathered peacock pose.” replies Stiles, jumping to the floor and immediately getting into the lotus pose.  
“Namaste.” says Derek under his breath as he gets up and joins Stiles on the Twister mat.  
“Ok, so just cross your legs and concentrate on your breathing.” Derek tries not to think about how unexpected this is. Obviously its unexpected, it is Stiles after all, but it’s nice unexpected. He closes his eyes and concentrates on his breathing. Except he can’t. He closed his eyes and immediately the images hit. This time its Scott, his torso completely in half, his face contorted in pain. Derek gasps and opens his eyes. Stiles is still there, sat opposite, looking at him with gentle concern and complete understanding.  
“Hey” Stiles says softly, he places a hand on Derek’s shoulder and squeezes it tight.  
“It’s going to be ok, I got you. Let’s try this one more time ok, this time concentrate on my breathing, ignore yours, concentrate on me ok?” Stiles says, his hand still firmly holding Derek’s shoulder, an anchor point. Derek tries again, he concentrates on Stiles, on his breathing. His steady heartbeat. The smell of the hoody he loaned him. The heat radiating from the grip on his shoulder. He closes his eyes. He keeps thinking about Stiles. About how ridiculous Stiles is, and about how good he is at making Derek feel better. He’s not sure how long he has his eyes closed for but he’s brought out of his Stiles trance by the man himself.  
“I think you should try lying down now.” he says.  
“What here? On the Twister mat?” the spell is broken, Derek is awake and as alert as his sleep deprived body can muster.  
“Crap. I really thought that was working. Ok Big guy, Plan B, or is it C now? Get your wolfbutt back on the sofa, I’m going to get you another drink, be right back.” says Stiles, sweeping up the Twister mat and folding it haphazardly as he leaves the room. Derek feels awful. He’s beyond tired, he feels like a dick for putting Stiles through all this nonsense. He should have just gone to see Deaton and got a horse tranquilizer to put him out for a few days or something.  
“Here you go Derek, I put extra marshmallows in for you, Scott’s mom used to make me these when I had nightmares at sleepovers when I was little.” Stiles hands Derek a batman mug of hot cocoa. Derek doesn’t know why but a little tear slides down his face.  
Stiles wipes it away with his sleeve. “Sleep deprivation symptom 1, irrational emotional responses.”  
He puts another dvd into the player and then practically leaps on to the sofa next to Derek with such a force he nearly spills the cocoa. Stiles pulls the blanket up around them and presses play once more.  
“Les Mis? Really?”  
“This movie literally never ends, and why are they always introducing themselves? Seriously Javert, I heard you the first time, Don’t worry I won’t forget you.”  
“There’s some really poignant moments.” replies Derek, which is honestly, the most un-him thing he’s ever heard himself say. Stiles just shrugs at him. Derek sips his cocoa; the marshmallows really do make it.  
Anne Hathaway has barely begun singing “I dreamed a dream” before Stile’s snoring starts up again. He’s moved a little in his sleep and is sort of pressed up against Derek’s side. He’s made Derek’s arm go numb. There’s nothing to else to be done, Derek wriggles his arm free and leans it against the back of the sofa, Stiles moves closer and nuzzles into Derek. He enjoys it more than he should but again, just blames his sleep deprived state.  
Stiles wasn’t wrong, the movie was impossibly long. Despite this fact, Derek hadn’t managed to get any sleep. He came close. He closed his eyes a few times, but the visions that came were too much.  
Stiles wakes himself up with a particularly loud snore. He looks a little confused to wake up practically cuddling his friend but doesn’t move.  
“So, by the look on your face you’re still sleep free?” Stiles says softly. Derek just nods. Stiles settles his head on Derek’s chest, which should be weird but somehow isn’t. Probably because he’s already run a bath for him and made him meditate on a Twister mat, the scale of weird has expanded significantly.  
“Get up, I have another plan.” he says suddenly, rising from the sofa and Derek would never admit it but he had wanted Stiles to stay exactly where he was.  
Stiles grabs his jacket and shoes and signals for Derek to do the same. He grabs his keys off the side table and leads Derek out to the jeep.  
“Where are we going?” Asks Derek as he gets in the passenger side.  
“Nowhere in particular, I’m just gonna drive around the neighbourhood and see if the motion sends you to Sleep City. It’s something Dad used to do when I was a kid. You know, before Adderall was invented.”  
Stiles starts the engine and puts the heater on. The jeep is impossibly loud and clunky and so very Stiles, that it does help, in a way.  
“Is it ok if I put some music on?” Asks Stiles, Derek nods his consent. Derek stares out the windscreen as Stiles drives. It is peaceful, the roads are dark and empty and as Stiles sings quietly along to the radio Derek can pretend that the world consists of just him and Stiles and the jeep. Stiles tries not to whoop when he sees Derek finally give in to slumber. Instead he carries on singing and driving around the quiet roads of Beacon Hills until the morning light falls on Derek’s peaceful face.


End file.
